Asking for Guidance
by Doctor Who's Lost Companion
Summary: Life with the Brothers is straining and difficult as of late, so in desperation, Brother John calls out for help. John: DWLC Sherlock: RPer


**Asking For Guidance**

Closing the door behind him, John let the hood of his robe fall back and hitched a painful sigh when the fibers rubbed against his raw back. He shivered from the cold of the room, even the fireplace nor would the stream of light seeping through the window warm the stone room. Stiffly walking inside, John moved to the corner of the room and sank on to his knees in front of an alter, wrapping his rosary beads in his hands.

"Father, forgive me for my sins and shame. Please send guidance, the saints and angels please hear me… please save me from this darkness…this-this…temptation…"

"For some reason that doesn't sound honest enough... Seriously, you humans are just fractionating little creatures," a dark voice purred from the shadows.

There was a slight shifting noise as something soft brushed against the walls. It made the air swirl and the dust bits glint when they moved through the small streams of light. The fluttering sound caught his attention, and finally glancing up gave a yelp and hopped up, ignoring the shooting pains.

"Hark! What evil is this? This black cloud that plagues my senses, move off! What demon are you? What black, damned thing visits me? Stay back you!"

John held his cross outstretched in front of him and began to think of his Latin prayers. The winged creature smirked in the shadows and rolled his eyes as if this wasn't the first time he heard these words.

"Oh, come, come, you little mortal being. Your prayers won't harm me," he said sounding as if he were bored to death. This man was quite amusing, worth spend little more time.

"I wouldn't call myself black either, damned yes, but black..." he chuckled and moved bit closer the light source looking the cross in rather curious way. It did make his skin tickle a bit but that happened every time he passed any religious object, not just crosses.

"Back I said, you are just of some imaginary thing in my mind," John trembled and had backed up, "A mere hallucination of desperation. Father, send help to drag this wretch back into the depths where you sent some of your most loved."

As it neared him, he continued to slightly cower back until he was pressed against the wall and grimaced when the pressure of the wall pressed into his sensitive back.

"You are hurt," It said folding the black wings against the slim body covering most of the bare flesh because it would have made the human even more hysterical. He stepped back reaching one of his pale very human like hands towards John pal upwards.

"Step forward, you are in pain. I'm not hallucination, nor the demon. I am... not dangerous beast."

"So… you mean no harm to me?" John hesitated and then shrugged, sliding his hand underneath his robes to his back, rubbing to ease the tender skin, "Well, it's not often I am ever visited and prayers are never answered," John answered grimly and slowly walked to the being.

"Has the Creator blessed you with a name?"

"Yes, I have been blessed with a name though the blessing is wrong word for it. You may call me Sherlock," winged figure told with a dry smile tilting its head to right and shifting the feathers to cover him.

"I'm not here to harm anyone, not you anyway. I have other priorities regarding the evil deeds," his lips curled upwards because of the very bad joke. Humans just tend to take certain things too seriously, especially those who did worship the Lord, God, Creator, the one who had many names.

"Prayers are rarely heard, almost never, but I've visited you countless times already."

"You... have visited me?"

The smile completely, unnaturally put John to ease. It was as if he was in the company of someone who he had known since he was a small lad, though that would be impossible. Memorized, John slide his hand underneath his robes to his back, rubbing to ease the skin. Pulling out, John found a small bit blood smeared and still feeling vulnerable, hid it behind him.

"But why me? I don't understand."

"Mysterious are God's ways as you like to put it. Or if you want more simple and mundane answer, you are interesting, not like the people usually are, dull and stupid. You have always been bright one, John," Sherlock told him tracking the movement of John's hand pouting lips. He was able to smell the blood but didn't say anything. John didn't trust him just yet.

"You have done nothing wrong. You don't need to ask forgiveness. You are pure one, bleeding in front of me, letting the crow talk."

"No, no, no, not pure at all," he shook his head, "One of my fellow Brothers, he said I had come to him in a dream and… and performed acts of abomination on him, enjoying it. So, it is logical to say that I must have been darkened by these thoughts only for them to be projected to him. A couple of lashes has been given to help keep me on the right path and through this I can reach my salvation! So if I might humbly ask, what punishment are you here for? I yield to what you say for it is God's will," John answered and knelt before Sherlock head bowed.

Sherlock reached to touch John's head and let his long fingers to trace the soft cheek until they slipped under the chin.

"Don't kneel before me, John. I am not the voice God has sent to punish you. I disagree with Him quite often or at least with his followers," he told purring again as he felt the warm skin. John had been obedient follower, he had never said no to the Brothers who had told lies. He had never corrected them but had taken the punishments silently.

"You are too kind, too obedient, John. You deserve to be happy."

"Of course not, it is not deserved for what I have done in the past and for what I must have been thinking... not his fault for seeing such visions especially if I was the cause of them, the source…" he kept his eyes averted and turned the beads over in his hands.

From what he saw, John could not help but appreciate the Lord's handiwork, crafting such a fine spirit, delicate figure such a Sherlock's. Coming down from heaven's light, his skin maintained that of a shining white and remained John of fine china. Then there were the startling icy blue eyes which seemingly went straight through him.

"You have not the source. You are not vessel of those dreams either. It's lust inside your Brother that burns brightly and blackens the soul inside him. Come now, John. You are hurt and you need to tend those wounds," Sherlock twisted the words in his mouth and tried very hard not to roll his eyes. Humans were so silly at times. He was no good for John and yet he seemed to hind him some sort of a gift from heavens.

"Come, you who are looking for your faith. Let me make you feel more comfortable."

His voice crept into his conscious and stayed there swirling around in John's mind. If such things could be said from this creature of Paradise then it had to be true, he was one of His children. Though at the same time his mind quarreled and protested with another thought. What if this was a test or it really was Lucifer's followers sent to trick him? Sherlock's words could have been poison, to taint what shred of hope and humanity he clung to... then again he really did not think of such evil at all in truth, so if was not by his doing then there was no treason. John made up his mind and nodded his head, finally looking back up to Sherlock.

"Yes, yes you may make me comfortable. Thank you, it is a blessing for me!" he smiled.

Sherlock let his wings to flutter and shift a bit. He found it uncomfortable to keep then folded so close to his own body. It just was not natural to him at all, but people were afraid of his naked flesh, called it temptation from hell and clothes were not something Sherlock enjoyed to wear except when it was necessary.

"Blessing? I can't claim it'll be one," he said softly gesturing towards the hard bed, the water jug and a bucket, "I am not creature of the Heaven, not the angel you want me to be, John", he confessed quietly trying to earn the fragile trust. He took pity on him and stood up, reaching through the wall of wings to pick up Sherlock's hand and patted it lightly.

"You may claim not to be but I think you are or could be. You say such kind things, gentle, and forgiving. I believe in you," John grinned and moved on to the bed, sitting cross legged and pouring some water in a bowl. Sipping it, John offered it to Sherlock, "A sign of friendship, please, I have not much to offer you."

"Stop, I'm not worth to praise", he shook his head but the gesture was nice and heartwarming. John was proper, gentle and he did have a gorgeous smile. No, he was not a creature of light. His thought betrayed him every single time he had visited this man. For a second he opened the wings, when John turned his back, flapping freely before cloaking himself again.

"I thank, you", he told simply taking the bowl and sipping the cool liquid, "Let me see your wounds. I cannot heal them but I can wash them for you."

Turning his back to him, John poured some more water into the bowl and grabbed a rag, placing the objects behind him.

"You seem uncomfortable, is it your wings? Please, you may relax in my presence; I will not be bothered whatever it is."

Twisting back around and bending forward slightly, John pulled the robes over his head and left them in a heap on his lap to keep himself covered. He hissed slightly when the grazed into his cuts and with the open air around him John could indicate how deep they were and how many there were which were numerous.

"Thank you for the assistance, Sherlock, I appreciate it."

Sherlock looked curiously as John made the preparations. He was pedantic and extremely observant compared to other human beings he had met during the years. He looked the warm skin which was now striped, broken and bleeding. It was not right, not right at all.

"My wings are not meant to cover my body all the time but it's alright. I don't want to alarm the man of God. I'll be fine," he assured taking the rag and dipping it into the water. He gently started to clean the wounds, picking the threads of fabric with his fingers.

"So beautiful. So innocent. This is how your Brothers pay the kindness you show to them," he mumbled black weathers brushing John's arms and sides as Sherlock let them relax just a bit. His fingers found the old scars and caressed them gently.

"Come with me, John. Leave this place."

"What?!" John jumped and nearly cursed himself because the sudden movement shot pains down his body. The same time the feathers made him relax and forget the pain.

"G-g-go with you? How would this be possible? You are not supposed to be part of this realm in the first place, so nor would I be in yours."

"I told you already that I am not the angel you have been waiting. I have no place there with the Creator anymore," Sherlock spoke quietly looking the man who had jumped away from himself holding the bloody cloth in his hands.

"Come with me", he pleaded quietly shifting bit revealing bit more his pale flesh than he had intended to reveal to John but he wanted John to smile more than he did here in this small room.

"Where will you take me?" he asked feeling slight terror and anticipation at the same time. John shifted his eyes slightly to look behind him but drew them forward instead.

"From shadows to shadows. I am not wanted here, in your world," Sherlock said truthfully gazing the man. He was scared. Of course he was; that was the normal reaction after all. "Smile, John. I'm not a grim reaper," he said still holding the piece of cloth and patting the bed again. His work was not completed yet.

"So...then where do we go? I didn't think you were a grim reaper," John chuckled at Sherlock and felt suddenly very energetic.

"Where ever you want to go, I'll be by your side. I've always been", he smiled feeling at least bit relieved. John trusted him more than he should have, but it warmed the heart of a miserable crow, unwanted specimen, "I have not finished washing your back yet," he told gently patting the bed again still keeping the wings pressed tightly against the cool skin of his.

"Go anywhere... anywhere..." his whole future was seen here with the church and it really was not much of a future at all. What would his Brothers think of his sudden departure?

"I might have to escape because if I try and leave, they might call me possessed especially because I have dealt in 'serious sin'!"

Sherlock pressed his fingertips together and placed then under his chin closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't quite understand why John felt this way but humans were curious little things.

"I don't see much of a problem if you really want to leave. After all, I am here to guide you and perhaps your Brothers as well... Yes, a Demon. That would be something absolutely hilarious... "Sherlock spoke more to himself than the man flapping his wings as he did let his thoughts to swirl.

The whirl of wind and loss of a feather or two made John glance up and snatch a rogue feather from the air. It was incredibly soft and John had turned to address his new friends, but realized Sherlock was quite in his 'natural' state. Blushing, he turned away quickly and murmured to himself something in Latin.

"So, uh, I am guessing you have created a clever plot for me to leave this place?"

Latin? Sherlock gazed John from the corner of his eyes and gained the control of his wings once again. He let them more open but angled the left one so the man of the Church didn't see him, but the wall of black and shiny weathers. He could have teased John and spread his wings even more, yet it would have been unfair because the poor man lived by the book, not willing to explore other options.

"Not a clever plot, not at all. I just want to amuse myself," Sherlock told with a smile, "But before that, you need to rest, my friend." Yes, he would show his wrath because what they did to his John, his white light. Even without his full powers he knew how to manipulate men.

"Uh...um," John could not help but turn around, his head now feeling slightly scrambled, "Amusement is good, but please let no terrible harm fall on them, well... at least not too much."

The man smiled and unconsciously his eyes trailed down Sherlock, trying to take note of every detail. To John, he appeared strong yet small and tall frame, it was enticing. Somehow his hand had ended up being raised and outstretched; reaching out to him now falling into the blue ocean he called eyes. Sherlock looked the man his head tilted to left. Kind, too kind for his own good.

"I might not be a celestial being, but I am not cruel either. Your people will receive what they deserve," winged creature declared spreading his wing to touch outreached fingertips guiding John back to him.

Perhaps he was not fit to be a guardian angel or messenger, but this human had captured his mind and soul in ways that it was intriguing. Somehow Sherlock's hand had drawn him in and slowly he curled up in his lap, nuzzling his head into the cold chest. John felt completely safe and comfortable there, in strong limbs.

"I trust you, and whatever it is your mind decides to do. I just want... I don't know, I just met you and I do not want to leave you. I don't understand it."

Holding the new source of warmth in his arms made Sherlock's heart leap. He felt bit guilty about the whole thing though as some people were easy to trick with kind words and empty promises. Sherlock did not wish to harm John though so he was the lucky one and was extremely careful not to touch the wounds. He let his wings wrap around the other man's body covering him from the chilly air.

"You have met me many times, John. You just don't remember those occasions," Sherlock hummed with a deep voice caressing John's bare sides letting the other man find a comfortable position.

"We... have?" John asked innocently, completely baffled. Thinking hard, he tried to see if he could recollect any other encounters with Sherlock and remember none. And he figured if he did, how could he have possibly forgotten about it. As John turned the matter over in his mind, he unconsciously had been lightly scratching at the creature's chest with his finger.

"Was it during a dream that you have visited me? Or some distant memory in my childhood I struggle to remember?"

"Dreams, they don't belong to me, John", Sherlock's wings fluttered gently as if he were laughing silently. He had been in broad daylight many times, even talked to John but he could not remember him. Sherlock could not blame him though, not because he had mastered the art of disguises.

"You have seen me a week ago. I'll give you a hint; it was in the market", Sherlock let the man play with his body. In a way he was bit like scared child unsure of everything.

He was in the market, shopping for the daily bread and various vegetables, fruits, and spices. A group of rowdy boys had accidently knocked him over, spilling his basket so the apples rolled away while they taunted him. Asking for the good Lord to keep them safe, one man had stooped down to pick up a few and then pulled him up.

"Good Brother are you alright?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir," John bowed repeatedly, "Most gracious, kind gentleman, and may the Father grant you good fortune."

Before the two departed, John blessed the man and the rest of the day felt joyous as ever with the thought of kindness still in the world.

"You were the one who helped me, thank you Sherlock!" he beamed and wrapped his arms around the middle, gently squeezing.

Good, John was sharp as ever which made the creatures lips curl upwards once again. There were countless little encounters like that, not that Sherlock was stalking the man in his arms. It was just curiosity that made him do such thing.

"Quite right. There is no need to thank me, John. I merely did the thing I was expected to do", he said taking a sharp breath in as he felt the arms around him. Just like religious artifacts made his skin tinkling, John seemed to made his flesh itchy.

"You blessed the one, who does not deserve such kindness, who clearly plays tricks with you, tempt you like the devil itself", Sherlock spoke with a calm and quiet voice lips almoohn't temple.

"Should I call you the Norse god Loki instead?" John chuckled at first and then scratched the back of his head shyly, "Oh my, I should not say such things, that's blasphemy. Wait, tempt me? I feel you do not do such things, except maybe for the escape plan," he noted, leaning up and looking to him almost underneath his chin.

"I am nothing like that... but blasphemy? Ridiculous. There is no such thing. People never learn", Sherlock let out a long and dramatic sigh making sure that John understood where he stood on this matter. It was part of the reason, why he was not liked in certain circles.

"Best seduction is so subtle the prey never know what hit them before it's too late", winged creature whispered with his deep baritone. It was the honest truth, for once in his life, Sherlock was telling that to a mortal. It was warning. It was invitation. It was puzzle. Escaping was one thing, John deserved better than punishments he received in the name of God, God that Sherlock had once looked up, adored mindlessly like all his comrades. It had changed and exile, or retreat as some called it, had been the only chose available.

Biting his lip, John shifted in Sherlock's lap, working out his words. From what he understood the Lord seemed much more lenient with his children than the Brothers indicated and then tried to figure out the rest of what his guardian said. Seduction... prey... John was beginning to feel flushed and his stomach flipped, even more so when he glanced into those eyes. But the thing is none of this frightened him, and he imagined he was supposed to scared. Again no longer. His arm reached up and his hand slightly held Sherlock's cheek.

"Is it too late?"

Sherlock felt the movement, he could see it too. He could see the slight confusion, the sweet colour of rose on John's cheeks, but there was no fear in his eyes. Warm hand on his own cool cheek was quite comforting and Sherlock slowly moved his head so that John's thumb touched the corner of his mouth. Mouth that wanted to press a soft kiss, suck away the pain and blood, but which he was forbidden to do.

"It is for me", the answer probably didn't make any sense. Sherlock should have left but was unable to do so. He needed the warmth of the sun, sun that was not a star up there, but down here. His fingers started to trace one of the wounds carefully with his fingertips. Blood had dried already, it did feel uneven, hard and ugly compared the smooth skin.

"I don't think so," John mumbled and his stomach fluttered when his thumb was caught in Sherlock's mouth. Normally at the slightest pressure on the wound, he thought he would have hissed and shrunk away, except, it did not hurt. Then there was that moment, the nagging in the back of his mind that had been held back this whole time, yet not any longer. It was the voice of the Head Preacher or his father or the good Lord himself... or it was possible a mixture of all these voices, screaming and battering him for his wicked ways, what he had to do in the war. With all effort John knew not how else to silence them other than to dare to slide his thumb further into the creature's mouth. And with that, John gave in to a little bit of a sigh and the voices were gone again, his mind at peace.

How little the earthling knew, how oblivious he was... It was a blessing to Sherlock and a curse when John pushed his thumb between creature's lips. It burned sweetly, just like fire and the black wings opened sharply, well at least one opened while the other one hit quite painfully against the solid wall, but it didn't really matter thanks to burning, itching, the lust that he was not supposed even feel, or the hunger. It was the earthy taste that made Sherlock roll his tongue around the finger sucking gently. Sage, soil, garlic. He was able taste them all and John. "This is not the time or place," Sherlock whispered unwilling to let go. Slowly he started to understand what his punishment was all about, exile that he had found rather boring so far. It was not him, who was tempting John, it was other way round.

"Um yes, yes I suppose..." John gave into a slight shiver and shook his head to gain a sense of his surroundings. Remembering their plan, he carefully nudged himself out of Sherlock's lap and put on his robe again, now blushing from a bit of embarrassment. He gave thought to a moment what he had to do and then decided how he was to do it.

"I shall seek him out now, the um, Head Father that is and I-... I will tell him I am in need of a holiday, though not just any other holiday... it will be a spiritual journey. I tell him about a trip to the mountains or someplace where I can find complete solitude so I may talk to Him. Yes, he would believe that. When it has been done, I will pack and- where shall we meet again? Outside the grounds and beyond the next hill over? That might work..." John trailed off.

Sherlock let the man slip away from his grasp almost regretting it when the cool air hit his skin and made his shiver lightly. Embarrassed. John was embarrassed of losing it for a moment. It should have been Sherlock feeling so but instead he listened carefully licking his lips. Wings once again pulled closer to his body. It made him feel comfortable enough to let go and think the whole situation not that it was the most challenging one.

"No. Why would they let you go? You are the one that keeps others... for not doing certain things as they can see the result; punishment. No. They need to know you are mine, all mine," Sherlock pointed out rather obnoxious manner from his black cocoon.

"They will see that heaven or hell is right beside you, guiding your every step. Probably hell would work better, like I told you before, at least it would be more fun for me. Blackened sheets, some skulls and bones would do the trick just fine", he voiced his thoughts out aloud.

"S-skulls and b-bone?" surprised by the sudden morbid topic of it and then chuckled to himself. John thought he would have been used to such things, especially after seeing so much on the battlefield both the destruction and loss of life. Then John realized what else Sherlock had said, staking claims on him, perhaps his body and soul, which would not be horrible, he thought. Suddenly his cheeks burned a little more at the thought and tried to cover it up with a cough and turned to him.

"It sounds as if you have a plan in mind. What would you have me do? Pretend you are the King of Hell," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head and sheepishly grinned.

"That would be most helpful, but I can be rather terrifying if needed", Sherlock told to John who clearly had noticed his choice of words. He wasn't sure if the man actually knew, what it would mean, that he would not be able to come back to this familiar sanctuary of his.

"How so?" John was now rather curious about this, many discussions had been had on what the angels actually looked like. Then again Sherlock kept denying he was a true angel and maybe he was not, though the concern was not present.

"I have my ways. Not very pleasant ones perhaps but I've learned few tricks. Some people just are more... How should I put it... resourceful than others", Sherlock told still sitting on the bed even though he was supposed to do some preparations. Well, maybe it was better to wait till monks were fast asleep before he would start wondering on the corridors.

"I will show you, what I can do," he smiled but hid his face with wall of black feathers.

"Oh, yes that would be something to see," John started to become excited and shifted anxiously, "Please, do, please!" In his mind the possibilities were endless! Maybe Sherlock could shape shift into something terrible like a goblin or dragon! Or, or, possible change into a disguised demon, an agent of the devil and no doubt the ability to fly would certainly help.

Little human, how excited he was about all this. It was amusing to watch John's childlike enthusiasm, the glow on his face.

"Patience. I don't think it'll be good idea to abandon this place just yet. Creatures of night need their darkness," Sherlock told John starting to straighten his weathers that looked rather oily in this light. He needed to wash them properly soon but the water in the nearby stream was cold and even though Sherlock did not feel the coldness like humans did, it had started to bother him even more. The longer he had spent his time here on Earth, the more changes there had been and that should have been alarming, but Sherlock found it all just interesting.

"Alright that sounds well! I imagine if the alarm bell rings in the night, the village militia leader Lestrade will come barreling in to save us, all gruff and grumpy from being woken up. I do not know if you have seen him, but he is a good man, somewhat as they say, 'rough' yet his heart is brave and in the right place. So please, do not hinder his conscious, in fact, I would not face him at all! He might mistaken you for evil and come in protectively. Please take caution dear Sherlock-"

The bells of the hour sounded, in their talk the light was becoming warmer, the sun now beginning to sink into the West.

"If you excuse me dear friend, I must go! Supper is at hand and then the evening prayers after. Oh how difficult this will be! To cover my happiness and excitement with quiet and serious, thoughtfulness! I look forward to whatever it is you plot and will try to keep face with the others so as not to arouse suspicion," John said as he checked himself, making sure his rope belt was tight and his sandals better strapped. Opening the door, he glanced back to confirm that this was a mere dream or that he was mad and smiled, offering Sherlock one last wave before he left.


End file.
